Molly Weasley Saves the World
by Story Please
Summary: The Second Wizarding War has had plenty of casualties, but even those who have survived are still hurting in more ways than one. Molly Weasley struggles to cope with the loss of Fred and her worries about her surviving family members when Ron offers her another option. Before she can save the world, Molly will have to save herself.


Author's Note: Written for Round 9 for Season 6 of the QLFC

Round 9: I Am Woman

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Captain

Captain's Prompt: Molly Weasley

Word Count: 2,940

Beta Love: Many thanks to Arhtea, Crochetaway, Sehanine, and Sekdaniels for beta help! :)

Additional Author's Note: I do not know what Kingsley's middle name is (it was never stated in canon), but I thought "Hubert" sounded fitting.

* * *

 **Molly Weasley Saves the World**

Sleep was hard to come by for Molly Weasley after the war. Sometimes, she'd drift off for a moment, her arms wrapped tightly around Fred's old pillow. Soon enough, though, she'd shake herself awake and stare at the clock on the wall.

Arthur had clipped Fred's clock-arrow off the Weasley family clock after the funeral, but a small metal nub still remained.

It steadily pointed to "Lost." It always would, for Fred was gone forever.

She still hardly ever saw Percy after all that had happened. Last she'd heard, he was cozying up to Dolores Umbridge in a bid to become the Undersecretary. Of course, Umbridge was up to her old tricks at the Ministry with dubious werewolf legislation. Molly worried until her hair was streaked with gray every time she read an article about it in the _Daily Prophet_.

Charlie was in Romania, which wasn't too far away to visit, but he was working with dragons. Which, if his rather colourful letters were to be believed, were extremely lethal. Some nights, Molly would doze and her mind would wander to the mental image of a giant, fire-breathing monster eating her son in one gulp.

Ron was the same as he'd always been. Fiercely loyal. Fiercely protective. Bit of a temper. Molly could see so much of herself in him. Sometimes she was in awe of her youngest son's strength. He'd single-handedly saved George from a spiraling bout of depression, and then had the gall to come and make _her_ breakfast every morning. He'd sing obnoxiously cheerful songs at the top of his lungs until she finally got up. It wasn't always the best breakfast, but he'd gotten better at frying eggs, and he made her laugh. Still, she was struck with guilt at the fact that she'd always forced him to make do with his brother's hand-me-downs when he was growing up. She'd always told herself it didn't matter, it was good enough. But she could tell by Ron's insistence on wearing new, smart clothing that it had actually mattered quite a lot.

Arthur had busied himself with work, and when he was not at work, he was in his shed with a project. Molly had lost the desire to stop him from whatever Muggle nonsense he was up to. She couldn't bear to take away his moments of happiness. She had not been the only one who'd lost a child, after all.

George was recently engaged, and Molly tried her best to be excited for him, but she remembered the last wedding they'd had at the Burrow. She was relieved when George told her that he and Angelina planned to elope.

As for Ginny, she was arguably in a more dangerous profession than Charlie now that she played for the Holyhead Harpies. Ginny always seemed to send the most heart-stopping photos with her letters and postcards, too. Molly considered it a miracle that she hadn't had a heart attack yet.

Yes, everyone had their lives to get on with.

"But Mum," Ron had said one morning, "What about you?"

"What about me, dear?" Molly asked, vaguely pretending to sip her tea. The dark circles around her eyes gave her a gaunt appearance, and even she had noticed how loose her clothing had become lately. She felt as though she'd aged a decade in the span of six months, and even she had to admit that something was terribly wrong.

"You're wasting away!" Ron said, gathering her into a tight hug that made Molly ache with sadness. "You're killing yourself with your grief, and I won't stand by and let you do this to yourself."

"Don't worry about me," Molly whispered, feeling small and guilty inside. The last thing she wanted was for Ron to be concerned about her. Everyone else seemed to be getting on with their lives, after all. "I'm just tired."

"You're not tired, Mum. You're not sleeping. You're not eating. You've...you've _given up_!"

"I haven't—" A spark of indignation rose in Molly's chest, but it fizzled out as she opened her mouth and she slouched into Ron's embrace. "Fine. You're right. Are you happy now?"

Ron drew back and looked at her with sad eyes. "Mum, none of this makes me feel the least bit happy. You need help. I need you to talk to someone. You need to sleep and eat and find something that makes you want to live again. Fred isn't going to come back no matter how much you hurt yourself. He's gone, Mum."

"Don't you think I know that?" Molly shouted suddenly, tears stinging her eyes.

"Yeah, I do. But I don't think that you _accept_ it," Ron replied placing a hand on her shoulder.

Molly collapsed into him, sobbing. She'd been so strong, but she found that when confronted with the truth of it, she couldn't deny it.

"I can't help you, Mum," Ron said gently, "but I can recommend someone who can." He handed her a slightly dog-eared business card. "She's helped me a lot with my issues, and I think she might be able to help you too."

Molly took the card, leaning sleepily on his shoulder.

"C'mon Mum, let's get you to the couch for a lie-down," Ron said gently.

Molly slept fitfully, the card grasped firmly in her fist.

* * *

Molly stared at the name painted on the frosted glass door.

 _Miranda Crick, Psychologist_ , read the bold, black letters.

The psychologist was a Muggleborn witch. Molly didn't tell Arthur where she was going for fear that he'd tag along and ask her where she kept the brain shrinking machine.

"Ha-ha!" Molly said aloud to herself as her nerves began to get the better of her. "There is no machine! Ron was just joking about that...I think."

Hesitantly, she grasped the doorknob and turned it. The door opened into a surprisingly comfortable-looking waiting room. Molly stepped inside, then took a seat on one of the vinyl chairs. She was early, so she pulled a half-finished scarf from her bag and began to knit. Winter would be upon them soon enough, and Molly had noticed how frayed Arthur's old scarf was becoming.

"What lovely colours!" A soft voice from across the room made Molly look up to see a woman not much older than she was wearing a brightly-coloured sweater that appeared to have at least seven cats on the front of it. The woman also wore a brooch in the shape of a kitten batting at a ball of yarn, and her hair was fluffy and teased. Molly felt rather plain in her brown dress.

"Thank you, I find it helps settle my nerves." Molly hastily stuffed her knitting back into her bag.

"You must be Molly! I'm Doctor Crick, but please, call me Miranda." The woman stepped forward and held out her hand.

Molly shook it and smiled nervously. "It's my first time here, so I'm not quite sure what to expect."

Miranda smiled. "That's completely natural. I'm happy to explain the process to you, but first, why don't we step into my office?"

Molly followed her into another room, which was filled with warm, late afternoon sunshine, a myriad of plants, and comfortable-looking furniture.

"Please sit wherever you like, Molly." Miranda gestured to the various furniture and Molly decided on the high-backed velvet chair by the window. Miranda followed her and sat across from her in another chair.

"I'm not quite sure why I'm even here, really," Molly said, fidgeting nervously. "My son Ron suggested I come and have you fix what's wrong with me, so...here I am, I suppose!"

"Molly, this is your time to work on things that you'd like to improve in your life. I'm just here to support you on that journey," Miranda said, pulling out a pad of paper. "The truth is, I don't need to fix you. You will always be a whole person no matter what is bothering you or affecting your quality of life. But I have training that will allow me to help you learn how to manage some of the things that are affecting your life in a negative manner. I can also prescribe medication, if we decide that's necessary. For now, though, why don't you start by telling me a bit about what has been troubling you?"

Molly tapped her foot nervously and nodded. "I...I guess it all started with the war…"

* * *

Molly was feeling much improved by Christmas, and it showed. She was able to carry on conversations without suddenly spacing out mid-sentence, and she was sleeping better. All of her remaining family seemed to be surprised and relieved, but Arthur and Ron especially had noticed the difference and seemed overjoyed at the change in Molly's demeanor. She sometimes felt a bit guilty for using her new coping skills to manage her worries about her family and her remaining grief for Fred, but she was learning that addressing her own needs was just as important.

* * *

"That horrid Umbridge woman!" Molly tossed the _Daily Prophet_ , which featured a smug, simpering image of the horrible toad-woman's face on the front page, onto the floor.

"I read the article earlier this morning," George said, grabbing a slice of sausage and holding it to his lips like a cigar. "She's thrown in her bid for Minister of Magic, and everyone is saying that Kingsley's got the fight of his life ahead of him."

"Yeah," Ron said from the opposite side of the table as he spread marmalade on his toast, "There's a lot of people saying that Umbridge will bring back the status quo, and if you ask me, that's bloody ridiculous."

"Language, Ron!" Molly said sharply, and Ron's ears went red with embarrassment.

"It's too bad that she's a favourite with the other pure-blooded families," Arthur said sadly as he looked over the top of the comics section. "Rumor has it that she's got a stack of new anti-werewolf and werewolf-conspirator legislation in the works."

Molly frowned, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt did not feel like getting out of bed. The night before had been a disaster. He'd gone to a fancy Ministry dinner only to find himself faced with Dolores Umbridge. They'd both been somehow roped into a debate on their respective campaign promises, and Kingsley had been just tipsy enough to trip over his words. Everyone had laughed, Kingsley had turned to put some distance between himself and his hated opponent and suddenly found himself on his arse. In his haste, he had not looked where he was going and slipped into the dessert table, upending an entire bowl of chocolate mousse all over himself.

To add indignity to indignity, a _Daily Prophet_ photographer had captured the entire thing.

Someone banged loudly on his front door.

"Kindly go away, whoever you are!" he shouted, throwing the pillow over his head.

"Kingsley Hubert Shacklebolt! You'd better open up, or I'm going to blast my way in there!" Molly shouted back.

Kingsley froze. He knew that voice.

"Do not make me wait, Kingsley!" Molly hollered, and he sprung into action. He leapt from his bed, skidded over to the door and opened it.

"Do you think you're going to save the Wizarding World in hippogriff pajamas?" Molly asked, shaking her head, "because I highly doubt _that_."

"What are—?"

Before he could say another word, Molly had already pushed her way past him and was in his kitchen gathering breakfast ingredients. She stared him down as she began to violently scramble eggs in a bowl. "You are going to need plenty of protein if you want to become Minister, and I am here to ensure that you do."

"Wha—"

"You are looking at your new campaign manager, Kingsley, and I will not hear another word about it, so kindly shut your mouth."

Kingsley wisely did as he was told.

* * *

Molly had never been a campaign manager, but she'd been a core member of the Order of the Phoenix, and it turns out that clandestine secret freedom fighters have a lot in common with successful campaign managers. Using all of her connections, Molly mobilized her children and her children's friends to pass out flyers using the Floo. Ginny wore a flag attached to her broom endorsing Kingsley during her games, and many fans superstitiously attributed the recent Harpies winning streak to its appearance.

Hermione was more than happy to lend her Transfiguration and Charms skills to creating buttons that played a catchy little tune George had written, and showed a number of memorable endorsement phrases such as: "Why take Umbridge when you could live like a Kingsley?"

Harry Potter himself even recorded a few short endorsement commercials on the Wizarding Wireless.

True to her word, Molly fed, motivated, and planned everything, often staying up until the wee hours of the morning with Kingsley revising his speeches.

"Merlin's pants, Molly!" Kingsley finally exclaimed, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. "It's two in the morning! Go home and get some sleep! One might think that it was _you_ campaigning to become Minister!"

Molly looked affronted at this and waved her finger in front of his nose. "Now you see here, mister. I lost one son in the war, my husband was nearly mauled to death, and my other son is threatened by that fuschia frog's werewolf legislation!"

"You're still taking this a bit personally, though." Molly glared at him as he spoke and Kingsley flinched.

"You've got to do this, Kingsley. You know how the Ministry works, and what's more, you're a war hero who has always fought for what's right. People _listen_ to you! If that horrid woman wins, she'll be out for revenge and every one of us will be at risk. You know what she'll do to my boys, and that's the least of it. I saw how she was looking at me the other night. Like she was thinking of ways to cast an Unforgivable on me without getting caught! So excuse me if I am taking all of this a bit personally!" Molly took a deep, shuddering sigh and hugged herself tightly. "I know, I know. I...I get carried away. Good night, then."

She turned and began to walk towards the fireplace, her hand raised for the Floo powder when Kingsley stopped her.

"You're right," he said, squeezing her shoulder. "This speech could be better. _I_ could be better. It's not fair that you've been carrying this whole campaign all this time by yourself. You're so strong, Molly. You know that, right? Probably stronger than all of us put together."

Molly blinked away tears and broke into a rather wet smile. "Do you mean it?"

"Absolutely," Kingsley said with conviction. "And don't sell yourself short. You defeated Bellatrix Lestrange! Compared to her, Umbridge is a big pink zero."

Molly wiped away her tears and nodded. "All right, then. Let's make this speech absolutely perfect!"

"Roger that, esteemed Campaign Manager!" Kingsley grabbed his quill and they set to work.

* * *

The Wizengamot filed out of the room with solemn expressions. It seemed that all of the votes had finally been tallied and double checked by each member. Molly twisted her handkerchief as Dolores Umbridge gave the room a wide, toad-like smile. Kingsley's bald head was shiny with sweat as he stood bravely across from her sporting a look of determination and focus that made him look as regal as his name implied.

"The results are in…" Dean Thomas, official Ministry announcer trailed off, slowly unfolding the parchment that had been handed to him. "A hearty congratulations to your new Minister….KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT!"

The crowd went mad with applause. Kingsley raised his hands gently and the noise of the crowd died down.

"It is my honor and privilege to accept the responsibility for stewarding the Wizarding World towards the bright future that all of us deserve!" he said, smiling brightly. "First, though, I would like to thank a very special person. Molly, please, come up to the podium."

Molly's hand flew over her mouth in shock. She hadn't expected to be thanked, just as she'd never been thanked for her part in the Order, or all that she'd done as a mother. It was just what was expected of her. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she stepped forward, doing her best not to keel over then and there.

Kingsley bent down and pulled out a large arrangement of flowers, handing it to Molly with a grateful grin. "Molly here is the most organized, driven, and intelligent person that I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. She is a war hero, as many of you know, but she has also held her family together under the intensity of strains that no family ought to bear. Molly is the face of what we at the Ministry must strive to be: brave, focused, and compassionate. And, for that very reason, I would like to offer the position of Undersecretary to the Minister to you, Molly, if you would like it. What do you say?"

Molly took his outstretched hand, shaking it firmly. "I say, you've got yourself a deal, Minister."

A deafening roar of applause filled the room. Hardly anyone paid Umbridge any mind as she slunk, defeated, out the side door. As Molly stood facing the crowd, she could feel a sense of peace descending upon her. She knew that she wouldn't be content for long, but for now, it was enough. She'd saved herself.

The next morning, Merlin willing, she'd begin saving the world.


End file.
